Travel can be
tiring. Whether lugging around a backpack or sitting in first class,
a long journey can take its toll on even the most seasoned globetrotter.
Time permitting, I like nothing more than a good blow out in a sauna
to speed up my recovery, but as I was recently reminded, it pays
to be prepared when visiting new places.

Last month I stayed
at the very accommodating but sauna-less beach front YHA in Newcastle,
NSW. After an airport delay in Melbourne and a cabin choir of screaming
children, a therapeutic sweat was top of my agenda. Blank looks all round
as I asked for directions to the nearest sauna, but undeterred I stumbled
upon Steamworx Spa & Sauna on Newcastles main drag. Up two flights
of stairs and into a softly lit atrium, I allowed my mind to wander, conjuring
images of grandiose marble steam rooms, splendid splash pools and soft
embroidered bath robes. And at $23 a pop I should think so too. I managed
to blag a backpacker discount, but even with a concession I half expected
toga draped women on call for massages and manicures. I paid my money
through a faceless slot in the tinted glass from which a receptionist
informed me that I could come and go as I wished, closing time being 2am.
A touch eccentric I thought, but perhaps this was some new form of all
day sanctuary that in an increasingly stress warped and anxiety fuelled
world would grip the masses in times to come. I was intrigued to say the
least.

So, through the entrance and into a darkened room. No massages, no manicures.
As it turns out it was far more hands on than I was prepared for, but
it wasnt until I reached the rose lit locker room that I realized
the gravity of the situation. Although dark, I could see the room was
partitioned into small furnished cubicles. Okaaay. A few toweled gentlemen
wandered around, clearly having bunked off work early, but something a
little more mischievous was going on here. Huge plasma screens offering
the only real light played movies of men celebrating each other in a manner
that my relative naivety has never dared imagine. Oh dear. Suddenly I
felt like todays special as I nervously caught the eye of a curious
pot bellied onlooker. No sign of a sauna as of yet, but I began to sweat
buckets. I bolted through some double doors, nearly flattening another
chap and found myself in a bar. More porn. More men. I could see, which
was of momentary relief, but an unlocked display cabinet of bondage gear
and sex toys is hardly a sight for sore eyes (or any other part of my
anatomy, thank you).

This is whats known as a cruise bar. This is where inquisitive men
come to meet other like-minded fellas and as far as I could work out just
about anything goes. Quite how the advertising standards council would
feel about them trading a spa and sauna is a matter for the courts, but
I wasnt hanging around for the verdict and bailed, managing to get
a full refund thanks to my little boy lost story. They do actually have
a sauna on the premises, and free internet should you wish to check your
email (or any other males for that matter), but be warned; contrary to
their name these establishments are anything but plain sailing.